Small g

by Patricia Highsmith

  “You’re going to keep on living there? At Renate’s?”

  “It’s all just happened, Teddie. I can’t answer a question like that. The girls and I too—we have to work there tomorrow as usual.”

  “Gosh,” said Teddie. “C-can you put Rickie back on?”

  Teddie asked Rickie to invite the fellow called Philip, if he wished. Rickie asked if he could bring Freddie instead.

  “The police officer, you know? I’m not sure he’ll be free tomorrow evening.”

  “Sure, Rickie, invite both. It’s a shame my article won’t be out by tomorrow, but they’re postponing it again.”

  ON MONDAY MORNING, though it was raining lightly (she had taken a raincoat from Rickie’s cupboard), Luisa stood at seven-thirty down on the pavement in front of Renate’s apartment house. Here came Stefanie, holding a newspaper over her head, and an oversized white plastic handbag in her other hand, smiling mischievously at Luisa.

  “You’re up early. Been out all night?”

  Stefanie had noticed the raincoat. “You didn’t talk with Vera?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Renate had a fall—Saturday night. On the staircase. She’s dead.”

  “Oh, my God!” Frowning, Stefanie took the newspaper from her head. “Just suddenly dead, you mean?”

  “Yes. It broke her neck.”

  “What’re we going to do?”

  “Not sure yet. We’ve got to finish our assignments—the orders, you know. Vera will know what to do. I’ll be there in a minute.” Luisa saw tears gather in Elsie’s eyes.

  “It’s just so hard to believe,” said Elsie.

  As Luisa had supposed, Vera took charge. It was like the army; Vera was next in rank to Renate, after all, and had Elsie in charge, whereas Luisa and Stefanie had been Renate’s two apprentices. First they would take care of the orders.

  “Then there’s the Frauenfachschule to help us out, you know,” Vera went on, her dark eyes earnest, “with maybe the name of a good Damenschneiderin for us.”

  A new mistress, boss. The idea left the girls solemn and wide-eyed.

  “Now let’s get to work on what we must do,” said Vera.

  Luisa plunged in with the rest. Seams, bastings and plannings, and full use of the long table. Only Stefanie was able to talk, to make a joke about the rain. For the coffee break at ten, the girls would have only the unfinished cake from Friday, Luisa thought, as she hadn’t gone to L’Eclair yesterday.

  The telephone rang now; Vera answered it. One call was from a private client asking about a finishing date for a suit. Vera gave an approximate date, and Luisa thought she would have said the same. This morning Rickie was to phone Renate’s bank, then ring Luisa, and shortly before ten, Vera summoned Luisa to the phone.

  Rickie told her he had spoken to a man at UBS called Gamper, who seemed well acquainted with Renate Hagnauer. “I explained that I was a friend of yours, and that you were one of Frau Hagnauer’s apprentices. He seemed shocked at the news—also seemed to know your name. Now, Luisa—”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Gamper said the bank has a copy of Renate’s will, but her lawyer handles that. We must take a certificate of death to the—to Renate’s lawyer. Did anybody give you a certificate Saturday night?”

  “No. I’m sure of that.”

  “Then we’ll have to get it from the hospital where they took her. Or the morgue.” Rickie sighed. “What’s your house number there, my sweet?”

  “One forty-five.”

  “Thanks. Luisa—I can’t do much without you, you know. You have the same address as Renate, so they’d give the certificate to you—”

  Luisa explained that she couldn’t leave at eleven, as Rickie proposed, because she had to be here, and the girls took just forty-five minutes for lunch, because they brought their own, and, and . . .

  “But this is an emergency! If we don’t do it today, we’ll have to do it tomorrow. Who’s the girl you said could take charge?”

  “Vera.”

  So Luisa met Rickie at eleven at the corner of Jakob’s. He had ordered a taxi. Then to the hospital, which Rickie had traced that morning, the hospital whose ambulance had come to Renate’s dwelling. Luisa showed her identification, and with this obtained a certificate of death, signed by the doctor who had come to the house.

  “Step number one,” said Rickie when this was over. “I’ll drop you back home—and myself at Jakob’s for lunch. Can I persuade you?”

  Luisa shook her head. “I’d best go back. And you—lost the whole morning, I realize, Rickie.”

  “I’ll survive. I’ll be in my studio all afternoon.”

  By now they were in a taxi, which had been easy to get at the hospital doors.

  “Would you give me that certificate, my sweet, and I’ll make a photocopy or two in my studio. Might be useful. And I’ll give the original back to you tonight. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

  The Kronenhalle. It was hard to imagine, a few hours from now, being in that elegant restaurant where she and Renate had gone on rare occasions to celebrate something. She was supposed to look cheerful tonight. Teddie’s birthday. “I haven’t even a present for him.”

  Rickie laughed. “Teddie can telephone you now! Come to see you—I suppose. That’s a nice present for him.”

  They had arrived at Luisa’s destination.

  “Pick you up at a quarter past seven?” Rickie asked. “And try to reach the lawyer this afternoon, Luisa. Make a date and I’ll try to join you—whenever it is—if you want me to come with you.”

  “Of course, I do, Rickie.”

  Upstairs, the girls were half finished with their lunch. They knew Luisa had been out on an essential errand, and were curious. Luisa washed her hands at the sink.

  “I had to find the doctor who was here,” Luisa said, relieved to talk about it. “I had to get the death certificate.”

  “Oooh—of course, that’s normal!”

  “Do you know when’s the funeral yet?”

  Luisa, buttering a piece of bread, felt flustered. “It’s got to be tomorrow, I suppose. I’ve got to ring the hospital again.” But Renate’s body wasn’t at the hospital, it would very likely be at an undertaker’s parlor. Luisa wanted to ring Rickie again. But wouldn’t he get fed up with doing services for her?

  “Do you know, Luisa—”

  “Oh Luisa, you’re supposed to telephone—a certain number. It’s by the hall phone.”

  Elsie and Vera had spoken at once, and Luisa chose to listen to Vera. An office of some kind had left a number.

  After two o’clock, Luisa rang this number. It was the morgue, and what funeral arrangements had she made?

  “I’ll have to phone you back,” Luisa stammered, feeling at a total loss, inadequate, stupid.

  But there was Vera, twenty-two years old, much more in command. Vera and Luisa consulted in Luisa’s room. Perhaps Renate had expressed a preference in her will? That was certainly possible, and the thought shocked Luisa into action.

  Vera stood by Luisa at the telephone. The lawyer Rensch was busy for another half hour, Luisa was told. She washed her best foulard scarf, which had a rather masculine pattern, she thought, and took it damp to the cheerful Stefanie who was wielding the iron today. Luisa tried again for Rensch.

  “Oh yes, Frau Hagnauer! A colleague told me. He had seen it in the newspaper. What a shocking thing!”

  Luisa recalled that Stefanie had been about to say, at lunch, that there had been a small item about Renate in the Tages-Anzeiger that morning, which she had with her. Stefanie had looked for such an item and found it. Luisa didn’t want to see it, but she didn’t say so. She felt embarrassed, constricted, but she forced the question out.

  “Do you know if Frau Hagnauer had a preference as to where she
would like to be buried?”

  “No, I do not. It may be in the will. Have you the certificate of death?”

  It was arranged in seconds: Luisa was to come to Dr. Rensch’s office at three-thirty. Luisa so informed Vera (to whom Luisa had given Renate’s set of keys), and Luisa set off for Rickie’s studio without phoning him. Rickie gave her the original certificate, and called a taxi for her. He also offered to come with her.

  “I’ve got to learn,” Luisa said. She took off alone.

  Luisa felt weakened by the heavy leather-upholstered chairs in the waiting room of Rensch and Kuenzler in the Bahnhofstrasse. Renate would have been dressed for this formal setting. Luisa wore white cotton slacks and her best rubber-soled shoes. A door opened and she was beckoned in.

  Dr. Rensch, a plump man with gray hair, laid an envelope with a visible red seal on his desk. He looked carefully at the death certificate. “A fall down the stairs, you say—horrid.” Then he opened the envelope with a penknife. “You will permit me—the burial matter first, I think.”

  Luisa kept silent. The will seemed to be about six pages long and on heavy paper.

  Frowning, the lawyer read on, turned a page. “Ah yes, I remember now. Frau Hagnauer preferred cremation.”

  An ugly thought flew across Luisa’s mind: Renate preferred cremation because it would burn her crippled foot to ashes, never to be seen again.

  Dr. Rensch was saying, “We can give you some counsel about that, if you like. These are heavy responsibilities for one as young as you.”

  “Yes,” Luisa agreed politely.

  Dr. Rensch read on. “She still owns the apartment, I presume?”

  “Yes.” Months ago Renate had mentioned that she owned the apartment.

  “And her sister? Is she in touch?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The sister in Zagreb?” Dr. Rensch looked at Luisa. “We’ve got to notify her. This will was updated this year, so I’ll assume the address here is still valid for the sister. Edwiga Elisabeta Dvaldivi,” the lawyer said carefully. “You and she are the co-inheritors, you know. I suppose you know.”

  Co-inheritors. Fifty-fifty. It was as unreal as the sister, whose name Luisa had never heard Renate utter. “No, I didn’t know.”

  “Oh, Frau Hagnauer thought most highly of you—and of your talent.” He gave a restrained smile, lifted his glasses and looked at Luisa.

  Was that true, Luisa thought. Thought highly, yes, in the sense that she was so special, she had to be imprisoned. Luisa felt her heart beating heavily. “I’m sorry but I have to ask you what I’m supposed to do about the cremation.”

  Dr. Rensch nodded. “We’ll take care of that for you—with your consent, I trust.” He pushed a button.

  A woman opened a door on the lawyer’s right.

  “Can you make a copy of Frau Hagnauer’s will, please, Christina?”

  Less than twenty minutes later, Luisa was on a tram, riding toward Aussersihl and home. The will in its envelope made her handbag bulge. Co-inheritor. Half the apartment, what did that mean? Half Renate’s bank account? Luisa felt quite neutral, uninterested. It somehow wasn’t true. It was like Renate’s death, which had happened “early yesterday, Sunday,” today being Monday, but her death didn’t seem true, or real.

  Duties next: check with Vera on the progress of the day’s work, and be sure they had not neglected any client they were supposed to speak to today. Luisa was to ring Rickie, if she had time, and report on the lawyer.

  “Look, Luisa, perfect,” said Stefanie with a proud gesture. The foulard square hung over a line by the ironing board. “I’d get full marks for that.”

  “It does look prettier than when I bought it!” In a beam of sunlight, the gold, blue, and tan of the pattern came up like a stained-glass window. “Now I need a gift wrap.”

  “You’re giving that away?” cried Stefanie.

  “Aw-wr,” said Elsie, glad to have something to smile at.

  “I’m going—I have to go to a birthday party tonight,” Luisa explained, “and I didn’t do any shopping.”

  Vera told Luisa that everything was in control. She beckoned Luisa into a corner of the workroom. “And the funeral?” she whispered. “What’s happening?”

  “I just found out—it’s supposed to be a cremation. The lawyer’s going to see about that. It’s bound to be tomorrow—don’t you think?”

  Vera nodded. “Sure. Very likely. The lawyer’s going to phone you?”

  Luisa nodded.

  The girls were winding things up for the day, as usual trying to leave the worktable reasonably tidy. Luisa did not ring Rickie, because there was hardly time, if she swept the workroom and got dressed. She realized she didn’t want to say anything to Rickie about being co-inheritor, or about cremation. Not now, not tonight.

  “I almost forgot,” Vera said, “your friend Dorrie rang twice, and she’d like you to ring back. Left a number. It’s there.”

  Then Luisa was suddenly alone in the flat. She looked at the message Vera had written: Dorrie and a number. She wanted Dorrie with her this evening, wanted Dorrie’s smile and her easy manner. In her room, Luisa reached for her German dictionary (the safest place she’d been able to think of) on the top shelf of her bookcase, and got from it the card Teddie had given her, one of his mother’s personal cards, with home address and number. Teddie had drawn a line through “Frau Katarina Stevenson” and written “Teddie” above.

  Teddie’s mother answered. “Oh, hello, Luisa!” she said, more friendly than Luisa had expected. “Yes, Teddie’s here—in the bath—but I’ll ask.”

  Teddie came on, using a bathroom phone, he said. “What’s the matter? You’re coming tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Oh yes, I was wondering, could I invite a friend—who’s been very helpful—”

  “Sure!” said Teddie.

  “Dorrie. Thanks, Teddie . . . of course. I look forward.”

  Then Luisa dialed the number for Dorrie. It was still only five to five, and she knew Dorrie didn’t usually stop work at five. A man’s voice answered (not Bert), then Dorrie came on.

  “Yes, a busy day!” Luisa said. “I just spoke with Teddie. Can you join us tonight? Kronenhalle at seven-thirty?”

  “I could. I heard about it from Rickie. You’re sure it’s OK?”

  It was OK. Teddie had said it was a buffet.

  31

  Rickie had walked over to Luisa’s, and had ordered a taxi to come there. Luisa was down on the pavement, in a longish blue-and-gray cotton skirt with pleats and her finest white blouse, with a generous black shawl to guard against the evening cool.

  The taxi arrived at almost the same time as Rickie.

  “Kronenhalle, bitte,” said Rickie, looking at the flat square box Luisa carried, with its thin blue ribbon. “I didn’t bring anything, I’m afraid, so Teddie will have to forgive me. I was busy today. So you won’t tell me what the lawyer said?”

  “Not now. Not that he said much.”

  “Gave you a copy of the will?”

  “Oh, yes. Dorrie’s coming tonight.”

  Rickie smiled. “So is Philip Egli. Lots of work for you to do—in regard to the will?”

  Luisa shook her head. “No.”

  Rickie wanted to ask when the funeral would be, but now didn’t seem the time. However, when would be the right time? Luisa looked rather paralyzed by events.

  When they were inside the Kronenhalle’s doors, Rickie said, “The funeral—it’s tomorrow?”

  “It’s a cremation. The lawyer’s going to let me know the time. I suppose tomorrow.”

  Rickie was sure Luisa would go to the service, and there was always a service. “Let’s go up. It’s on the floor above this.”

  Teddie’s party was in a big room which held two long tables,
set at a wide angle. Teddie came at once to greet them, very dapper in a blue summer suit and a red bow tie.

  He kissed Luisa’s cheek. “You look beautiful! Hi, Rickie! These are for you, Luisa.” Teddie extended a pair of gardenias, which he had been carrying delicately on one palm. “Ribbon has a little safety pin to—” he explained anxiously, ready to help, but Luisa said she could manage.

  “Thank you, Teddie. Such a fresh smell! This little item is for you. Happy birthday!”

  “You didn’t have to bring me anything!” Grinning, he turned the flat box over. “I’m going to leave this at the front desk or I’ll lose it. Please—welcome to the party. Have a drink. I’ll be back.” He dashed out of sight down some stairs.

  Waiters fussed around the two linen-covered tables, bringing stacks of plates in addition to the glasses and cutlery. Wine bottles stood in ice buckets.

  “Good evening,” said Freddie Schimmelmann, bowing to Luisa. “And Rickie.” To Luisa he added, “I heard the—about the accident. I don’t think any of us expected a mishap like that.”

  “No, we didn’t,” said Luisa, at once conscious of the “we.” Meaning who?

  Teddie was back with a tall, blond young man. “Eric—my military training pal. Luisa—Rickie—”

  Eric, staring at Luisa, said, “’Evening.”

  Then came Philip Egli and a dark-haired young man. “Hello. This is Walter Boehler. You know, Rickie, from the travel bureau.” Philip looked radiantly happy.

  Rickie did remember, somebody new. “Walter of the travel bureau!” Rickie echoed, as if greeting a great poet. “And Andreas! Can’t believe my eyes!”

  Andy, in a proper suit and tie, drifted forward, smiling. “’Evening, Teddie. Ein Appenzeller, Rickie? Ha-ha!”

  “What a surprise!” Rickie said.

  “For me too, but I can’t stay long. Half an hour, Ursie said.”

  “I invited Ursie,” Teddie said to Rickie, “but she absolutely couldn’t come even for twenty minutes. Andy—please make these people take some drinks. You know how to do it!”